


it's okay to not be okay

by Wake_The_Dragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Good Pansy Parkinson, Good Slytherins, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Greengrass Family Feels, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Multi, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, Pen Pals, Protective Siblings, Protective Slytherins, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Secret Identity, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wake_The_Dragon/pseuds/Wake_The_Dragon
Summary: In a push for inter-house unity, a pen pal program is established at Hogwarts. The rules are: no one within the same house is each other's pen pal, no one knows the actual identity of their pen pal, no one can admit their identity during the program, and not even the eighth years are spared this. No one thinks this will work, and yet they actually start making an effort.If eighth year will prove anything, it's that everyone has scars. Some are just more visible than others.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	1. You've Got Mail

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter. All characters belong to JK Rowling. 
> 
> Track one: Right Back to Where We Started From - Maxine Nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a push for inter-house unity, a pen pal program is established at Hogwarts. The rules are: no one within the same house is each other's pen pal, no one knows the actual identity of their pen pal, no one can admit their identity during the program, and not even the eighth years are spared this. No one thinks this will work, and yet they actually start making an effort.
> 
> If eighth year will prove anything, it's that everyone has scars. Some are just more visible than others.

**Hermione (and Draco)**

Two days after the Welcome Feast, Hermione stared down at the letter delivered to her by one of the school owls. She lifted the envelope up from her plate and opened it to find:

_Look, we both know this is stupid. More importantly, there is no way you’d be writing to me if you actually knew who I was. You can just write whatever you want to me to satisfy McGonagall and I’ll write back whatever you want. It’ll be much less painful that way._

Hermione let out a sigh. What did she even want to write in response to that?

* * *

1st September, 1998:

Returning to Hogwarts was everything Hermione had wanted since the end of the war, so why did it now feel so hollow?

Hermione Granger spent most of the trip to King’s Cross station in silence and had only made the transition from total to near silence once she was in a compartment in the Hogwarts Express. “Yes, it’s...it feels stranger than I thought it would,” she had replied, quietly, to something Ron said about going back to Hogwarts.

She, Harry, and Ron had found an empty compartment and had claimed it immediately. Most of the Hogwarts Express train ride had been mostly quiet; Ron had broken out his battered, but well-loved Wizard’s Chess set and he and Harry had played several games in a row. (Ron had soundly beaten their best friend five times out of five, but there had been an exciting two minutes when it seemed like Harry would pull a comeback win.) Hermione, for her part, had read or just stared out the window at the passing sights. When the trolley witch had come by, Harry had bought some of everything for all of them to share. Hermione had taken a few different sweets, but most of it ended up being eaten by her two best friends.

It all felt disturbingly normal.

Maybe that was the problem in the end. It felt too normal to be returning to Hogwarts. Hermione wasn’t the same person she’d been before the start of their journey, and neither were Harry and Ron. And yet, all three were back on the Hogwarts express, dressing in school robes whose red trimming now seemed too bright, and headed towards a castle where several people they’d known had suffered and died. (Harry had died; he came back, but that didn’t change facts.) It felt almost like they were puzzle pieces someone was trying to smash together, even though they didn’t fit.

“I didn’t think I’d be coming back,” said Harry, pushing his glasses back up. They were close to Hogsmeade station now, too close now for regrets. Hermione hadn’t expected him to come back, or Ron either for that matter, and yet here they were all the same. “The Ministry was waving NEWTS for all of us but....I couldn’t do it.” There was something heavy in his voice, something that said his return was more than just a rejection of special treatment.

“I wasn’t going to. But Ginny,” Ron paused, eyeing Harry cautiously, before continuing, “had to and it didn’t feel right letting her be the only Weasley having to come back.” He laughed then, but it was short and harsher sounding than he probably meant.

The silence was threatening to come back and Hermione said, “I was always going to come back.” Her tone was much lighter than theirs had been, but she could practically taste all the things she wasn’t saying in the back of her throat. Ron caught her gaze, an almost too knowing look in his own blue eyes, but he ended up being the one to look away first. They were still friends, just as Harry and Ginny were still friends, but there were awkward times like this.

Before anything else could be said, the train finally came to a stop. Hermione took a deep breath before exiting the train, her heart pounding in her chest, and she kept her eyes glued to the backs of Ron and Harry’s heads as they walked to the carriages. Other people were talking around her and Hagrid’s booming voice was calling for the first years, but all their voices sounded far away to her. Hermione’s gaze slipped to the thestral pulled carriages - the thesterals she could now see - and she came to a stop, but apparently too quickly for whoever was behind her.

That person crashed into her with a curse and she stumbled forward, but remained standing. “What were you thinking,” started a posh, much too familiar male voice and she turned around to stare at Draco Malfoy. He cut himself short when he realized it was her and his normally pale face lost another shade of color. “Granger,” he started again, sounding oddly strangled.

She had known he had been pardoned, had even testified at his trial along with her friends, but she hadn’t known he would be back at school. The words on her arm ached out of a phantom pain and the fingers of her right hand curled into a fist as she stared back at him. She was surprised to see that all traces of his normal arrogance were gone and he was much more subdued looking. His gray eyes lifted until he was staring at a spot somewhere over her head and he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Hermione knew it had to be an apology for bumping into her, but there was a weight behind the words that almost made her think it was for something much more than that as well. Before she could speak, he nodded stiffly to her before joining two boys she also recognized: Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott.

“More Slytherins came back than I thought,” said Harry thoughtfully as she walked up to him and Ron. Neither had caught her little exchange with Malfoy then. She swept her gaze over the students and picked out three of the Slytherin girls who’d been in their year as well: Tracey Davis was climbing into a carriage, not looking at anyone; Daphne Greengrass, now with a scar on her face that Hermione knew full well she hadn’t had back in sixth year, had paused and was staring wide-eyed at the front of the carriage, where the thestral was; and then there was Pansy Parkinson, who Hermione had definitely not expected to return, not after her attempt to give up Harry. Much like Malfoy had, Parkinson looked much more subdued, though there was an air of subtle defiance about her.

“Daphne,” Parkinson called while seemingly looking everywhere but at Greengrass’ face. “Are you coming or not?” It should have sounded annoyed, but Hermione thought Parkinson sounded more tired than anything.

And that was all of the scene she saw before Ron was nudging her into the nearest carriage. Hermione closed her eyes once inside as they were all pulled towards the castle.

* * *

**Ron (and Pansy)**

Ron was trying to keep his expectations low when it came to this. He didn’t really see the point in this exercise after all, and not knowing who this was from wasn’t the most encouraging. Still, he opened the letter and read:

_Hello I guess,_

_Merlin, this feels so stupid. I have no clue who you are, though I can guarantee that you probably can’t stand me. Yeah, that’s on me, but it’s not going to make it any less awkward once they finally reveal who we’re all writing too._

_What am I even supposed to write? An apology of some kind is probably in order, but I’d have to know who you are for it to make any sense. Fine, let’s start with the most basic thing I can think of. Do you like being back at Hogwarts?_

_I sort of do, but I shouldn’t._

_From,_

_Your Pen Friend_

“Bloody mental this one is,” groaned Ron, as he stuffed the letter back into his bag. He only had hours to string together a reply to whatever that was.

* * *

Ron Weasley hadn’t planned on going back to Hogwarts. The Ministry was waving NEWTS for everyone and anyone who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts could get into the auror program, his dream job, but when the time came to join up he just couldn’t find his enthusiasm. He had no idea why either other than the summer had been rough.

Fred’s death had hit all of them hard. His parents had tried to be strong for all of them, but he had seen his dad in the garage where his muggle things were, but he’d just been staring out into space rather than working on anything; and he had found his mum in their kitchen, sobbing in silence as she clutched a clock hand with the name Fred Weasley on it.

George had been…Ron had almost no words for it. For the first few weeks, George had stayed holed up in his flat and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had stayed closed. He, Bill, Fleur, Charlie (who hadn’t gone back to Romania yet), Percy and Ginny had all taken turns knocking on his door to try and get him to respond. Their parents had tried. It wasn’t until a determined Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan following along at her heels, banged on the door, threatening to blow the hinges off, that George finally opened it. “I miss him too,” she had cried, enveloping him in a bear hug. Lee had herded them both inside the flat, before closing the door behind him.

The next day the shop was open again. George wasn’t the same, probably never would be again, but he was getting better.

Ron had spent the rest of the summer working in his brother’s shop, both to keep an eye on him and to get his mind off things. Things like Fred’s death, the break-up with Hermione (for real this time), both of his best friends going off by themselves. He liked the shop and the other people George employed and long days spent dealing with customers, lugging boxes, and arranging displays left him with very little energy to dwell on shite.

He shook himself mentally as he stepped into the Great Hall. This was the start of a new year and he had to try and give everything a fair shot, rather than just brooding on how things had been. Harry was talking to Hermione as the three of them walked over to the Gryffindor table, but Ron was fine with just looking around.

The last time he had been here the place had been wrecked. There had been bodies lined up. His family had been off to one side, grieving together.

No, concentrate Ron.

The dining hall was as bright and welcoming as it always had been during the Welcome Feasts. McGonagall was sitting at the center of the professor’s table as the new headmistress and all the professors were there, save for Hagrid and whoever was taking McGonagall’s place greeting the first years. (Slughorn it looked like.) The house tables were all packed with students. His gaze was sweeping over the Slytherin table when Parkinson suddenly looked up and caught his eye.

He should have hated her, if not for how she’d acted towards Hermione for years, then for how she’d yelled for his best mate to be given to Voldemort. He’d hated her back in May, but after the summer he’d just felt more burned out than anything. Of all people, he thought that she and Malfoy would have stayed as far away from Hogwarts as possible but here she was. She was thinner than he remembered, more washed out looking, but she kept his stare all the same. Her mouth did not curl into its normal sneer, her eyes were more curious than disdainful, and there was a distinct lack of sarcastic remarks. (Admittedly, it would be awkward to yell snarky remarks across the hall.)

Parkinson broke their staring contest first.

Ron forced himself to focus on things at the Gryffindor table.

He and Hermione sat down right away but Harry hesitated and Ron looked up to see that Ginny had gone to sit next to Hermione. Oh shite, please don’t let this be awkward. Ginny had frozen just like Harry had for a moment before she let out an audible breath. “It’s nice to see you again, Harry,” she said with a shaky smile before sitting down.

A relieved grin had spread across Harry’s face. “It’s great to see you too, Ginny.”

That relationship had been another casualty of the war but, as with him and Hermione, they were trying to be friends again. More people showed up after that: Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lavender (face marred by total bastard, Fenrir Greyback), and Pavarti. Pavarti had glared down the table, like she was just daring one of them to say something even remotely negative about Lavender’s face, as if any of them would. And that looked like all the Gryffindors in their year who’d come back.

The Sorting was a few minutes later and it went as normally as could be expected. The Hat had again sung about how the houses should come together (fat chance of that happening now) and then the kids started getting sent off to their new houses. The new Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students were all met with applause, but the Slytherin got a less than enthusiastic response. Sure, there was clapping from the Slytherin table and scattered ones from the other tables (he saw one brunette witch at the Ravenclaw table clapping, along with Luna, a couple Hufflepuffs and Neville), but they mostly got stares and whispers from the other three tables. Ron never liked Malfoy and his gang, or Parkinson, or the members of the Inquisitorial Squad, but he felt bad for these pale looking first years who practically tripped over their own feet in their hurry towards the Slytherin table.

Once the last name was called, McGonagall got to her feet to address the school. “On behalf of the school, let me take the time to offer a warm welcome to both our new and returning students.” She went on to say that the Forbidden Forest was off limits and list the new additions to Filch’s ever increasing list of contraband items and then she specifically got to the eighth year students. “We are, of course, thrilled to see so many of you return to complete your education, but I am afraid that the existing houses don’t have the space to accommodate you along with the other years. There is no need to worry, though, as a new tower has been designated for all of you to live in. You will be directed there and your new sleeping arrangements will also be given there.”

“So we’re all going to be together?” whispered Dean. “Even with the Slytherins?”

“Sounds like it, mate,” Ron answered, uneasily. Involuntarily, he looked over towards the Slytherin table; Malfoy, Nott and Zabini were whispering, Davis was looking around the room uncertain, Greengrass was looking at Parkinson….who was looking down at the table, unmoving.

Ron looked back up to the staff table when McGonagall mentioned inter-house relationships. “The war did much to threaten the foundation of our house system and throughout the year we will be trying different means to create unity. The first of which is starting this week and will continue on into the year: you will all be assigned a student from another house to correspond through letters with. Neither of you in this arrangement will know the identity of the other person and no one is permitted to reveal themselves until this program ends.”

* * *

**Harry (and Daphne)**

Harry sat on the grass near Black Lake and took the letter out of his bag. He’d just stuffed it away without opening it at breakfast and had meant to read it in private later. He took a couple seconds to glance it over, before actually reading, noting the handwriting looked like a girl’s to him for whatever reason.

_Hi to the unlucky person who was matched to me,_

_I honestly don’t know what to say. I was hoping you’d have to write first, whoever you are, but alas here I am trying to write something coherent, or at the very least something not stupid._

_What am I even supposed to ask? Are we supposed to pretend that the living hell Hogwarts was last year never happened? Should I ask how your summer was, while knowing that you probably spent it mourning something or someone? Can you tell I’m normally a very cheerful person? Hopefully, the sarcasm is coming through nice and clearly._

_To tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to come back. I’m surprised anyone did._

_From,_

_Laurel_

_(P.S. Just to warn you, I might go through different names the longer this goes on.)_

To be fair to whoever this was, Harry doubted he would have come up with something better than that if he’d been forced to write the first letter. That didn’t make it any easier to reply though. “You’ve written to people before, like Ron and Hermione. You can do this.”

He’d beaten a Dark Lord, how hard could writing a letter be?

(Very, as it turned out.)

* * *

Harry followed the others after the feast, full and relatively happy despite how things were going so far. Mostly he was tired after eating a lot of good food; he’d been living mostly on take-away this summer and whatever Kreacher made. (He had tried to free Kreacher or at least pay him, but the house-elf was too old and too stubborn to go along with either of those options.) He spent most of the summer working on Grimmauld Place, doing his best to make it more livable.

He thought he was really close to getting that painting of Walburga Black taken down.

He’d even found a way to get some muggle things like a television up and running. Kreacher had just stared at it, before muttering something that sounded an awful lot like ‘Master Harry has such odd tastes’ and walked off. It was feeling more like an actual home now, even if every now and again he woke up half-expecting Sirius to be knocking on his door.

Hermione had gone to Australia that summer to look for her parents and had come back alone. She still hadn’t talked about it, but he and Ron both tried to make sure that she knew she could talk to them about things. He hadn’t seen Ron much that summer either, since Ron had been working in George’s shop and Harry had felt awkward going to the Burrow after breaking up with Ginny.

He hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t even known he was going to do so until the first time they’d be alone that summer. “I think we should end things,” he’d said softly. Ginny had given him a half-hearted appeal to try and work things out, but both of them had changed during the war and couldn’t go back to the happy and exciting way they’d been before. He was always going to love Ginny, even if it wasn’t romantically, but he’d wanted to give her space and he was afraid he’d be unwelcome at the Weasley’s now that he’d broken up with her. That lasted until Arthur Weasley had knocked on his door one Sunday and had announced that Harry was expected for dinner and Arthur was not taking no for an answer.

In retrospect, he could admit that he’d worked himself up too much, but at the time he’d been afraid he was about to lose the only real, loving family he’d ever known. Things ended up being fine with the Weasley’s, but Harry had been feeling out of sorts since the end of the war. People had expected him to join the aurors straight away. He’d thought that he was going to do that.

Until he thought about how many things he’d done just because people had expected things of him. It had made him feel something close to panic and he’d accepted the spot in the eighth year class when McGonagall had sent out the Hogwarts letters that year. He’d felt better after he’d made that decision and had felt even happier when he met Ron and Hermione at the train station.

There were a few people he’d been happy to see again, and several people he’d been downright surprised had come back. He’d meant it when he told Hermione that there were more Slytherins than he’d been expecting. The old suspicion of them all reared its head and then a voice that sounded a lot like Hermione said that they should all be trying to co-exist peacefully with each other. It would have been easier if Malfoy and Parkinson hadn’t been here.

Sure, Malfoy hadn’t killed Dumbledore when things came down to it. And sure, Malfoy hadn’t wanted to identify him when the Snatchers had dragged them all to Malfoy Manor. (Though Malfoy had tried to stop them later in the Room of Requirement.) And sure if it hadn’t been for Malfoy’s mum, Voldemort would have killed him. He no longer hated Malfoy the way he had for years and had testified in Malfoy’s defense during the trials, but that didn’t make them friends or even let him be happy to see Malfoy again. They were never going to be friends.

He was definitely not going to be friends with Parkinson either, not after she’d tried to sacrifice him. Maybe the whole thing was down to her being as selfish as she usually was, or maybe she’d been scared out of her mind, but, as the person she wanted to give up, he wasn’t feeling that charitable towards her.

And now he was going to be in the same dorm with both of them.

Yay eighth year.

Professor Sinistra had been the one given the job to lead the eighth years to their new tower and she had stopped in front of a painting of a woman in a tower. “Password?” she asked in a dreamy voice that reminded him vaguely of Luna.

“Initium novum.”

The portrait swung up and the astronomy professor led the group up the staircase and into their new common room. It was no Gryffindor Tower, but it looked welcoming enough. Harry came to a stop and while he was waiting for the new room assignments, he started to stretch out his arms…and narrowly avoided hitting a girl he didn’t know in the face.

“Shite, I’m sorry,” he apologized right away as she cursed and ducked under his arm. Harry turned his head to see a brunette witch in Slytherin colors. It took him a few seconds but he finally came up with the name Daphne Greengrass, who he’d never really spoken to before outside of class. In his defense, he’d never really seen her hang out with non-Slytherins. She’d always appeared very pretty and put together looking before, and he was surprised to see the scar on her face.

It started directly above her right eye, missed the eye itself, then ran down her right cheek and down her neck. It didn’t make her any less good looking, at least in his opinion, and it wasn’t as bad as the ones Lavender had, but he was surprised she was leaving it visible. The Slytherins had always struck him as a vain bunch and he’d think they’d use a glamour on any scars, especially ones on their faces.

“Don’t worry about it. How many people can say they’ve almost been hit by Harry Potter?”

It took him half a second longer than it normally would have for him to realize she was joking. He was tired, alright? He cracked a small smile as she glanced away from him. He would have been good with just silently waiting to find out where his room was when Neville stopped on his other side.

“Hey Harry,” his friend greeted happily. Harry greeted him back and then Neville was looking past him to the Slytherin girl. “Daphne? You didn’t tell me you were coming back.” His tone was still happy, but Harry thought he detected a hint of remonstration in it.

“I wanted it to be a…surprise?” she answered, a little sheepishly. He wasn’t sure if she’d intended it to be a statement or a question.

“You two know each other?” he asked, interrupting the conversation that was starting around him. For the life of him, Harry couldn’t remember Neville having one pleasant conversation with a Slytherin. Again to be fair, he really only recalled Malfoy’s moments of hostility towards his friend.

“We went to school together for seven years,” Greengrass answered, a sardonic smile forming on her lips.

“We became friends towards the end of last year,” Neville explained. Harry might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking between them, but Greengrass’ smile turned genuine; she tilted her face down like she was hiding it but he’d caught it.

That was finally when Professor Sinistra had gotten out her list and started reading out room assignments. He zoned out a little, but his ears picked up when he heard Hermione’s name, hoping she didn’t get roomed with Parkinson or someone like that. “Hermione Granger and Daphne Greengrass,” the professor said. Well, that could be worse.

The professor kept going down the list of students and he relaxed when Malfoy got roomed with Ernie instead of him. “Theodore Nott and Harry Potter.” He groaned as he heard his name after one of the other Slytherin blokes, completely missing the arched eyebrow being sent to him by the girl on his left. Sinistra kept going until she finally got to the last names, revealing that Ron and Zabini were sharing a room. Both looked less than thrilled at that prospect.

Finally, they were all allowed up to their rooms and Harry collapsed onto his bed as soon as he’d changed. It was only then that he’d thought about the letter writing thing and his last thought before drifting off was that he hoped he didn’t get paired with a Slytherin in that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be my lighter fic. I apparently don't know what the word lighter means.
> 
> Also, is Daphne's scar supposed to look like Kylo Ren's? Kind of, yeah.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. 18 Going on Extinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a push for inter-house unity, a pen pal program is established at Hogwarts. The rules are: no one within the same house is each other's pen pal, no one knows the actual identity of their pen pal, no one can admit their identity during the program, and not even the eighth years are spared this. No one thinks this will work, and yet they actually start making an effort.
> 
> If eighth year will prove anything, it's that everyone has scars. Some are just more visible than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter. All characters belong to JK Rowling. Quotes are taken from Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows.
> 
> Pen names: For the boys: Draco: None; Ron: Forge; Harry: Prongs. For the girls: Hermione: Perdita; Pansy: Harpy; Daphne: Laurel.
> 
> Track Two: "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" - My Chemical Romance

**Draco (and Hermione)**

_Hello,_

_No, I am not going to just tell you what to write to me just to get through this program. This would definitely not be my first choice in how to handle house divisions, but I’m still going to try and put effort into these letters going forward. I understand you don’t like this, but surely you wouldn’t be happy with me dictating your own letters to you. Wouldn’t that just be so boring after the first few times?_

_Maybe you’re right in thinking if I knew who you were, I wouldn’t like you. I didn’t get along with everyone at Hogwarts and I can think of a few people who wouldn’t like me. However, the beautiful part of this whole thing is that I have absolutely no idea who you are. You can be whoever you want when writing these letters and I wouldn’t know the difference until the end._

_Do you not find that just a little bit freeing?_

_From,_

_Perdita_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was drowning. He deserved it, he’d come to realize that, but it didn’t make it easier to deal with. He had been a bigoted, spoiled brat for much of his short life and had compounded it by blindly believing in his father, a man who had not been worthy of the pedestal Draco had always placed him on. He’d followed the man’s lead and had rushed to prove himself and to save his family when Lucius had failed in the Department of Mysteries and gotten himself put in Azkaban.

He could remember the Dark Lord-

No.

That name was reflexive, one that had been used in his presence since he was old enough to have permanent memories, and one that now made him feel sick.

He Who Must Not Be Named had been infuriated by Lucius’ failure on a mission Draco had no idea had even happened until Professor Snape had sat him, Theo, Crabbe (not Vincent or Vince, not anymore) and Greg down to inform them. Draco could still feel his anger and how his own knees had shaken in the presence of a man who’d come back from the dead, which had made him more monster than man. All Draco remembered of that first meeting had been slitted, snake-like red eyes and a cold voice; the words themselves were gone, but the malice behind them remained.

Draco had known that his family was at risk, that they were disgraced in the eyes of the Dark- He Who Must Not Be Named, and that he was the only one who could protect his family now. Even Bellatrix was out of favor at this point, something she blamed his father for every time she wasn’t in his mother’s presence. His mother had begged him not to go, had tried to plead on his behalf to the Death Eaters, and had finally told him to be as careful as possible.

That had been the meeting that had ended with him on his knees and being branded with a Dark Mark. He Who Must Not Be Named had grabbed him by the forearm and pressed his wand into Draco’s arm, and that was all Draco could recall as it felt like he was being torn in half. It was the worst pain he had ever been in, and yes he was counting it as worse now than the Sectumsempra that Potter had used on him; that curse, after all, had only hurt him physically whereas receiving the Dark Mark had felt like it had ripped into the core of what made him Draco Malfoy.

He hadn’t stayed conscious and had been left on the floor like trash; when he’d finally woken up, he’d been given the mission to kill Dumbledore to ensure the safety of his family. He could tell no one, had deflected any concerns from his mother or Pansy with bragging, but the more time had gone on and the more he’d realized he was fucked. He had not been expected to succeed and him being Marked in the first place had been a punishment for Lucius; he had grown more and more desperate over the year, hurting people not even involved in any of this, and the best plan had ended with him fixing a Vanishing Cabinet to let Death Eaters into the school, including Greyback.

He’d been such a selfish, bloody idiot.

Draco had been too much of a coward to actually kill Dumbledore himself, even with his parents’ lives hanging on the line. The headmaster had know it too, but instead of taunting him or fighting back with some wandless magic, he had tried to convince him to switch sides with the offer of saving his family. He’d struggled to believe it, couldn’t understand how Dumbledore could talk to him so calmly with a wand drawn on him and offer him a way out; he had actually nearly taken it, had surprised himself by wanting to say yes, but it had been too late by then. Snape had to kill Dumbledore for him and he had to flee with the other Death Eaters.

The war had fully started then and he had a front row seat of it at his home.

The summer after the Battle of Hogwarts had been difficult; thanks to the efforts of three people he had repeatedly harmed in some way, he had escaped being sent to Azkaban with his father, but was on house arrest and had been ordered to go back to Hogwarts in the fall. It should have been a bloody cake walk compared to Azkaban but the familiar surroundings of Malfoy Manor only disturbed him now.

He could not eat in the dining room without seeing Charity Burbage suspended from the ceiling and begging him for help, as he’d sat there powerless and horrified. He couldn’t go into the basement without remembering the people that had been imprisoned there, like Olivander and Lovegood. There was one room he couldn’t bring himself to go into at all, not when he re-lived Granger’s torture nearly every time he stepped over the threshold. He’d had to use all his brainpower to keep his Occlumency shields up at the time, as he’d been forced to stand and watch his aunt carve the word mudblood into Granger’s arm.

How many times had he called her that since second year? How many times had he made fun of her or hurt her or despised her for running circles around him academically? How disgusted had he felt with himself to see the logical end result of everything his father had taught him?

He could still hear her screams in his dreams.

And she still testified at his trial. It hadn’t been a ringing endorsement and didn’t even have much belief that he could actually make something of himself, but she had made a whole speech that he had been indoctrinated and shaped into a weapon by his family, that he had not taken a single life when it came down to it, and that she did not fight a war to just turn around and give up the concept of mercy. Even if the person’s redemption was a ‘long shot’ as she put it.

She and Potter had kept him out of Azkaban; he owed his relative freedom to the two people he’d spent years devoted to hating. They and Weasley had every right to screw him over, but they didn’t. He’d been unexpectedly angry at them at first, had thought of them as self-righteous, but it had slowly dawned on him that it wasn’t Potter and Friends who he was angry at.

He had tried to lock down all of those feelings to the point that he’d just felt numb by the time he was sitting in a train compartment with his fellow Slytherins. All of whom looked to be dealing with the past about as well as he was. Theo was somehow spacier than usual, Tracey had been blessedly quiet for once in her life (an achievement Draco had thought her incapable of), Daphne was sitting and staring out a window (apparently not realizing she was absentmindedly touching the scar on her face from time to time), Pansy had sat closer to him and was avoiding looking at anyone for too long (in fact he was pretty sure she’d pretended to be asleep at one point to avoid conversation), and Blaise was shaken but hiding it behind his old arrogance.

“It’s been so long, I started forgetting what people looked like. Daph, were you always a brunette? I could have sworn you were a blonde.” Daphne rolled her eyes but said nothing. “Tough crowd today,” he’d muttered before lowering himself to sit.

“I could have gone to Mahoutokoro,” Tracey had sighed, finally breaking her new record long silence. “But for some reason, I missed you weirdos.”

There had been a time where that would have gotten a response from one of them, probably some snide remark about Tracey being dropped on her head as a child, but they all lapsed into silence once more. There were too many absences now, too many things they’d all seen or experienced, and yet none of them could go too far away from the rest now.

Getting off at Hogsmeade was harder, the emotions he’d been suppressing were closer to the surface now. He should have known that if his home had been as bad as it was than Hogwarts would have just as many reminders of last year. He could barely look at the castle in the distance, so instead he just stared at the ground but it didn’t block out his thoughts.

_“You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts ... so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it..."_

_“I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe..."_

_“It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?”_

_“Must mean? Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.”_

He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice that the person walking in front of him had stopped walking and he slammed into her from behind. He lost his temper which he regretted as soon as he saw it was Granger; he felt something get stuck in his throat and he struggled to talk, shame making it harder. He finally muttered an apology that was in no way adequate either for the current situation or for everything he’d done to her (and failed to do for her).

He left as quickly as he could to the safety of his mates, but that awful start to the night only foreshadowed the awfulness of the coming week. They were putting all the eighth years together in one tower and they all had to do some sort of secret letter writing thing. Thankfully, he didn’t have to stay in the same room as Potter or Weasley, but he was paired with the irritating Macmillan. The Hufflepuff had practically done a whole song and dance about how some people would find rooming with Draco Malfoy impossible but he was willing to overlook Draco’s identity for the greater goals of inter house cooperation.

It would have been so easy to verbally rip into the pompous git the way he would have before, but he couldn’t find the words. It felt too much like he was an actor trying desperately to remember the lines from a play he’d done for years but now no longer really remembered.

“That’s big of you,” he finally said and Macmillan either missed or overlooked the sarcasm shading his tone. Alright, so he wasn’t making an effort to be as big a bastard as he’d used to be, but asking a Slytherin to stop all snark was like asking a Hufflepuff to not be friendly.

The letter ended up being the biggest problem as he ended up having to write first. Draco had nothing to say, nothing to ask that probably wouldn’t have been insensitive, and no one would actually want to be writing to him in the first place. He just scribbled off some sentences he barely remembered after stuffing the letter into an envelope and tried to forget about it. Hopefully, whoever it was would take him up on his offer.

They didn’t.

She (they were using a feminine name at least) had gone into a whole lecture about how he should be trying harder and that this served a purpose and blah blah blah. He felt his eye twitch and he grabbed a quill with a little more forced than was strictly necessary. The pent up frustration and guilt and anger inside him just started coming out onto the parchment.

* * *

_Why can’t you just make this easy for both of us? The professors aren’t going to give you a prize for being patient with an insufferable bastard._

_You don’t get it. This isn’t a ‘people don’t like me because I’m a bit obnoxious’ sort of thing, it’s an ‘I’m a total arsehole and can count the number of people who actually like me on my fingers’ thing. I’m this close to actually telling you who I am just to get you to give up in disgust._

_No, I fucking don’t find it freeing. I still know who I am; I’m the one who still has to live the life I fucked up for myself. You not knowing who I am isn’t going to change that._

_Just stop trying and sod off._

* * *

**Pansy (and Ron)**

_Hey,_

_Merlin, I don’t know where to even start here. You’re a bit mental you know, no offense._

_Maybe I do hate the real you, but look: I’m finding it very hard to care right now. The entire last year has sucked and I really doubt that just writing to you is going to make it worse. It’s probably sucked for you too, so let’s just call it even._

_I think I like being back at Hogwarts. I lost my b_

_I lost some people here, but I’m trying to hold up. I’m trying to remember how much I loved it here and that I have friends around. It’s not always working, but maybe it’ll get better as the year goes on, yeah?_

_Alright, I guess it’s my turn for a basic question. Do you like Quidditch?_

_From,_

_Forge_

* * *

Growing up, Pansy had been afraid that Parkinson Place had been haunted by the ghost of some long dead ancestor. Like any good, old family the Parkinson’s had their fair share of tragic or suspicious deaths that could have produced a ghost. It was an old home as well, prone to creaks and other noises that was just the house settling but to a child were the obvious sounds of the restless dead stalking the halls.

(Funnily enough by the time she was old enough to start Hogwarts, she wasn’t bothered by the castle’s actual ghosts. Apparently they just lacked the true terror of the ones from her imagination.

Yes, even the Bloody Baron.)

Over the summer, after the final battle and the trials, she had returned home alone. Her father had been one of the men in masks terrorizing children at her school and had died at Hogwarts while fighting the Order. Her mother couldn’t take either his death, the scrutiny, or the disgrace their family had come under and had fled to the continent before Pansy even made it through the front doors. All of her friends, with the two exceptions of Tracey (who ran away before Halloween) and Blaise (his mother was a remorseless killer but not a Death Eater), were all under house arrest. Draco and Theo were no surprises -Draco had taken the Mark himself and Theo’s father was a well-known Death Eater and monster- but Daphne was a bit of a surprise, since she helped the right side.

 _I’m pretty sure they think I only fought to save my own neck_ , she’d written in one of her many letters that Pansy had read but not replied to.

To be fair, the only person she tended to write back to those days was Draco and even that was a bit iffy at times. Any other letters she didn’t at least read only piled up, with the only exception being the Howlers that she received almost weekly.

She could have had them redirected but even screaming was a welcome sound to break up the silence. Without them, she spent most of her days just walking around her property, or reading or even playing chess against herself. (Pansy tried to get her family’s old house-elf to play but she had no interest or ability towards the game.) In many ways, she was now the ghost of Parkinson Place.

 _Stop being such a drama queen_ , was her first thought after that. But the feeling remained for the entire summer, on top of the guilt and anger she was already experiencing. It only increased ten fold once she was finally back in Hogwarts.

 _“But, he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!”_ She'd been scared out of her mind then. Her father had been a Death Eater and had tied their family to a cause she had rapidly lost respect for after living under the rule of actual Death Eaters; her mother wouldn’t have been capable of protecting them in case things went tits up, and even then she hadn’t wanted her parents to die. Most of her friends were still in the castle and who knew if they’d be spared You Know Who’s anger if he didn’t get Potter.

She also really hadn’t wanted to die, and hadn’t had a lot of faith in a boy who appeared to rely on dumb luck more than anything else.

If she could, she would go back in time and smack the shite out of herself before she’d had the chance to speak. She was still selfish enough to admit that she wished she could go back to not make herself such a target, but she did feel guilt as well mixed in. On top of all of that, she also found it bitterly ironic that the very suggestion that had gotten her and the majority of her housemates locked up in their dorm, had ended up being correct in the end: Potter had gone out to face the Dark….You Know Who...himself and ended up defeating him because of it.

There were no excuses she could make that anyone would accept. Seventh year at Hogwarts with the Carrows had been a living hell, even for Slytherin. No one would ever believe that, but the Carrows could be every bit as cruel towards members of their old house as they were the other three.

Pansy, herself, had to comfort a first year girl who’d slipped up and said Muggle-Born instead of Mudblood; Alecto had whipped out her wand so fast that Pansy had gotten whiplash and then had to fight not to react as the girl screamed and screamed. Afterwards, she’d had to force her hand over the girl’s mouth to muffle her crying because if Amycus or Alecto had heard, they’d have just used the Cruciatus on the girl again for ‘whinging’. That had been far from the worst of it.

There were the battered students the Carrows had kept chained up. Michael Corner from Ravenclaw had rescued one first year from that and the state he was in the next time Pansy saw him had almost made her throw up.

As one of the prefects, the Carrows often treated her like an extension of themselves. She was meant to help with punishments but she never sent anyone to ‘detention’ and she tried to turn as much of a blind eye as possible; had even indirectly abetted an escape once or twice, without the escapee or the Carrows knowing. (The other houses did not trust any Slytherin, she and Draco were just two of the ones they were most blatant about. Because of the assumption that the Carrows must be treating them all so much better than the other students, they tended to distrust or turn on any Slytherins that attempted to help.)

She never used an Unforgivable on a younger student, but the ones her age...she didn’t want to, would try to find any excuse not to, but sometimes there was no other choice. If she didn’t, the Carrows or someone like Crabbe would have happily turned their wands on both the intended victim and Pansy as a lesson for everyone else. She also reasoned that they wouldn’t care to hold back any while Pansy would.

Right, because that reasoning had ended up working out so well:

_Her hand gripped her wand as tightly as possible, but the sweat from her palm made it hard to keep her hold. She stood rigidly as Alecto Carrow stood behind her, closely enough that she could feel the woman’s breath on the back of her neck. She fought the urge to stiffen as Alecto leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Use the spell I suggested. Don’t be afraid to aim for where it’ll hurt the most.”_

_She choked back the bile that was rising in her throat. Unintentionally, Pansy stared at the student being held bound by Amycus Carrow; the other girl’s face was pale and she was shaking in fear, but there was a resigned sort of acceptance in her eyes when she caught Pansy’s gaze. She mouthed, ‘Just do it’, before closing her eyes._

_“Now Miss Parkinson,” Alecto practically growled. Pansy raised her wand, already hating herself._

No, she had to stop thinking about that now.

Pansy wasn’t sure if she would have come back to Hogwarts if it hadn’t been court ordered, and the memories it brought back were horrible, but there was a part of her that always loved this castle. She wasn't in prison, she wasn’t trapped in her own home, and she could actually talk to people, so in those ways it was better than her summer had been. Sure, most people here hated her and it was her own fault; sure, there were people she couldn’t even look in the eye; but things could always be worse.

Some people were confusing though, namely Weasley.

She’d caught him staring at her the first night back and she swore that she felt his eyes on her more than once since then. He was clearly not enthused to see her, but didn’t look like he hated her with the fiery intensity of the sun so there was that. Pansy wished that he would just yell at her already and just get it over with. She thought of approaching him on his own once or twice but then here self-preservation instincts kicked back in.

And then there was her pen pal. She wasn’t sure what she thought of him (she was nearly a hundred percent positive that a bloke was writing to her) but his letter had been straight to the point at least. She could respect that, especially after she’d written a confusing letter to him. But what did you write to someone she knew would turn out to hate her? He’d unintentionally made her laugh as well by calling her mental. She’d have been offended, but it was true wasn’t it?

She took a little more time in her response.

* * *

_Hi Forge,_

_You’re the one using the name Forge, but I’m the weird one?_

_You want to call a pre-emptive truce, that’s fine with me. I’ll be waiting to see if you keep up your ‘I probably hate you, but whatever’ attitude once you find out who I am. I do not believe that you won’t lose your head when it comes out. Do you feel like betting on it? I put five sickles on you getting mad, you want to bet that you won’t?_

_I am sorry for your loss._

_Surprisingly, I think I get what you mean. Maybe if we fake it long enough, we’ll actually start feeling like we belong here again? To answer your random question, yes, I do love quidditch. All my friends do, even if not all of us were allowed to try out for teams. What’s your team? I support the Harpies._

_From,_

_Harpy_

_(P.S. I only picked an actual pen name because you did. It was surprisingly hard, so please spare me any dumb jokes.)_

* * *

**Daphne (and Harry)**

_Hi Laurel,_

_Can you please just stick with this name? I’d prefer the consistency to be honest. Laurel is kind of a nice name too and I can guarantee that it’s better than what I’m going to use._

_This is a lot harder than I’d thought it’d be, even though I’m the lucky one who didn’t have to write first. I know you weren’t seriously asking, but my summer was as good as I could have expected it to be. I mostly just stayed in London; my friends were busy and I needed to fix things up at my home. It was kind of a mess. Was yours alright? I’m sorry if you lost anyone during the war._

_I wasn’t planning on coming back either, but my friends were and I needed more time before going into the real world. You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal, but what changed your mind?_

_From,_

_Prongs_

* * *

Well, this could be more awkward.

Daphne had followed Granger up to their new room in silence. She wished that she’d been roomed with Tracey or Pansy -admittedly things were weird with her and Pansy right now but she wanted to work on it - or at the very least someone other than one of the three war heroes. She hadn’t interacted much with Granger in the past beyond class work and doubted that she was a welcome presence to the other witch.

Slytherins weren’t exactly popular. That was mostly the fault of some of her housemates, but she’d never done anything to work against the larger impression of them until the end. Not everyone believed it either. Still, she had to make an attempt or her final year of school was going to be more tense than it probably was already destined to be.

She waited for the door to close behind them before saying, “Granger.” The other witch had been pulling her pajamas out of her trunk but stopped when she spoke. Daphne bit her lower lip before continuing, “I’m sorry.”

Granger had an odd expression on her face. “Excuse me?”

She fought the sudden urge to look at the floor. “You haven’t been treated well by Slytherins. I never said some of the things-“

“You never called me a mudblood like your friends did you mean,” she interrupted sarcastically.

“Right, I deserved that,” she replied with a wince. “What I’m trying to say is that I might not have used the word but I never tried to stop them either. And for that I am sorry.” Granger was staring at her the way she’d have studied a problem in their Arithmancy class and Daphne found she could only handle that for a few seconds; she nodded to Granger and then went to her side of the room to get ready for bed.

_Daphne limped through the Great Hall, trying very hard not to show how badly the gash on her right leg was actually hurting her. She was covered in dust, sweat and blood; the ends of her robes and skirt were singed, there were holes in her uniform shirt and tights, and the bandage on her face that had started off perfectly clean was now dirty. She would need to change the bandage soon she knew and get her leg healed; she also just really wanted to find some corner of the castle and curl up and sleep but that could wait._

_The battle was over now but the castle was still full of activity. The wounded were being checked over, the dead being laid out and the sounds of both reunions and mourning were echoing throughout the hall. Her friends were either in the dungeons waiting or gone, her father had decided that the opposing side had been more likely to win and had bent the knee so to speak, and her sister was at home where she belonged so she didn’t expect anyone to be overjoyed at her survival._

_But then again, her sister never stayed where she was supposed to._

_Daphne took a moment to lean against the wall and craned her head to look for any healers when she froze as she spotted Astoria. Her sister was standing in the middle of the hall and was frantically turning her head this way and that, obviously searching for someone. Before Daphne could even think of saying something, Astoria turned and saw her and then sprinted towards her, throwing her arms around Daphne._

_“You’re alive,” Astoria sobbed into Daphne’s shoulder. She could feel tears welling in her own eyes as she hugged her sister back just as tightly._

_“You were supposed to go home,” she choked, closing her eyes against the tears._

_“I’m sorry. But I just couldn’t sit at home, waiting to see if you were coming back or not. I had to know.” If possible, Astoria gripped onto her tighter._

_The reunion was unfortunately cut short as a pair of footsteps headed towards them and abruptly stopped. “Miss Greengrass?” asked Slughorn, voice missing the usual pompous tone. Daphne didn’t want to let go of her sister, but broke out of Astoria’s grasp anyway, rubbing the sleeve of her robe against her eyes to wipe away the tears._

_“Yes professor?” She asked as her sister turned to look at him as well._

_He was frowning, a resigned sort of expression on his face. “I know you must be quite ready to return home, but the aurors are requesting the entire house return to the dungeons.” Glancing over his shoulder, she picked out two of the other Slytherins who had also followed Slughorn into the fight; they were heading in the directions of their dorm. “They just have some questions to go through.” He was doing his best to say it as lightly as possible, but she felt the insides of her stomach clench._

_By her side, Astoria had narrowed her eyes. “What questions could they possibly have for Daphne? She helped Hogwarts!” Tori had angled herself now to stand partly in front of Daphne, as if she was ready to physically block anyone from trying to grab her._

_I’m not my father, she thought, the unsaid words practically choking her._

_Slughorn sighed deeply. “I am not happy with this either, Miss Greengrass, but the Ministry was most insistent. Another professor and I will be there to make sure that facts like that are pointed out.”_

_“This isn’t fair,” Tori snapped, the rudest Daphne had ever heard her sound to a professor._

_Before this could escalate any further, Daphne finally spoke, “I’ll go.” Slughorn looked relieved whereas Astoria glanced back at her, glaring. She reached out and squeezed Astoria’s arm. “I’ll be alright. Don’t wait around for me; you should go back home if you can.” Besides it wasn’t like she was actually being given a choice here. Deep down she knew Astoria realized that as well._

_“I’m not leaving without you,” her sister retorted, stubbornly._

_“You are free to stay as long as you wish, Miss Greengrass. In the meantime, I am certain the staff would be very grateful for anything you can do to help the survivors while you wait for your sister.” Daphne gave her sister’s arm one last squeeze as she passed by her, not missing the concerned expression on Astoria’s face._

_She walked after Slughorn, who was matching his pace to hers. “You’ll be getting medical attention in the dungeons, I assure you.” Daphne had just nodded, too tired at this point to want to talk. She saw Longbottom walking with Lovegood and both paused as she walked past them; both were frowning in confusion._

_She was at the top of the stairs to the dungeons when the far off sound of whimpering distracted her. She hesitated and winced as the sound suddenly grew louder, changing into flat out sobbing and-_

Daphne opened her eyes, confused and only half-awake. Someone was crying nearby and she turned on her side to see Hermione Granger twisting and turning in her own bed. It took her sleepy brain a few seconds to work through what was happening and then she was getting up. “Granger,” she called, as she approached the other witch’s bed. The other girl continued to sob in her sleep and hesitantly she reached out a hand to grab her by the shoulder. “Granger!”

The girl jerked awake and Daphne had to jump back to avoid Granger’s head smashing into her jaw. Granger was sitting up, breathing heavily, and Daphne moved another step back to give her room. “Are you alright?”

Obviously not, she thought derisively, what a stupid thing for her to ask.

“I...I’ll be fine,” Granger finally got out. She swallowed audibly before saying, “Thank you, Greengrass.”

Daphne just shrugged that off before going back to her own bed and attempting to sleep. When she finally drifted off, her dreams were thankfully free of any recent memories.

The first week passed okay, despite the awkwardness of having to write to a person whose name she didn’t even know. (What was the point of this?) Longbottom, no, Neville cornered her early on the morning of the second day in the common room. “You really couldn’t have let it slip in one of your letters that you were coming back to Hogwarts? Please don’t pretend you were trying to surprise me again,” he finished as she opened her mouth to retort. He really had come a long way from the awkward, shy boy he’d been in first year.

She grimaced slightly before shrugging. “I wasn’t planning to. It was a last minute decision.” She waited until the deadline itself was almost up, only giving her a couple days to actually get her things ready for school.

Before he could say something else, she glanced down at her bag on the table and started fiddling with the straps. “What you said to Potter the other day….thank you. You didn’t have to tell him that we’re friends; my housemates and I aren’t exactly popular right now, so I would have understood if you didn’t want to tell people-“

“Daph,” he interrupted her, softly, “I don’t hide my friends. Neither does Luna, just to warn you; I’d fully expect her to sit down with you for lunch one day or something.”

She’d been learning that being friends with a Gryffindor was a different experience. They were very open and warm, sort of like a Hufflepuff but more fierce, more so than the Slytherins in her year. That wasn’t to say that her friends didn’t know she loved them or vice versa, but it was a different way of showing it, often couched behind sarcasm or barbs, at least verbally. Actions tended to speak louder, especially during the Carrows reign at Hogwarts, not that the other houses would be likely to believe them.

Outside of Neville, the students from the other houses were all a mixed bag. Gryffindors were the most weary of them, if not outright angry, while the Ravenclaws were more curious and the Hufflepuffs seemed to be doing their best to try and power through everything. To be fair, these were just generalizations and there were always surprises; there was Potter, who didn’t seem to quite know what to make of any of the Slytherins who’d come back (she’d caught him looking over at her and Neville with a puzzled frown once), and then there was the surprisingly sincere Prongs.

She’d found his letter hard to read at first -his penmanship looked more like chicken scratch at times- but once she’d gotten used to his handwriting she’d been taken aback by how seriously he (or she, she supposed, but she was leaning towards bloke for the person behind this letter) seemed to be taking it. Honestly, it made her feel a little guilty at how she’d treated writing hers more like a joke in the end. He’d called her lazy pen name nice sounding for Salzar’s sake.

Daphne actually found herself actually hesitating over the parchment, thinking over how to reply. She wrote this letter a little slower, but she still handed it over in time; the only good thing was that she didn’t have to bring it to one of the school owls herself and risk Hades, her own owl, getting his feathers ruffled that she wasn’t using him instead.

* * *

_Hello Prongs,_

_Personally, I think your name is unique. I’m curious to how you came up with it and if it’s supposed to mean anything. For all I know, you might have just picked a random word from the dictionary. I put around three seconds of effort into choosing the pen name I used on the last letter and, if you knew who I was, you’d know how unimaginative I was being. It’s why I was thinking of using different names, but since you asked me nicely I suppose I can just keep using Laurel._

_My summer was alright. I mostly just stayed at home as well; I’d say it was nice and quiet but my sister was there too and she doesn’t exactly do quiet for too long. There was one time she was alone in her room when she was about four years old and somehow managed to set her bed on fire. She would jinx me for telling you that, so please keep this to yourself when you eventually find out who I am._

_I came back because my sister asked me to._

_From,_

_Laurel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is a bit of the Slytherin side of things, but unlike my other fic there will probably be less of their POV and more of the Gryffindors. I wasn't planning on any for them, but I thought it would be better to sometimes do flashbacks to Seventh Year instead of having the characters just talk about what happened. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
